On my way there
by simply-a-freak
Summary: He looked ahead, sought the path to sanity and strode along it without a care in the world.  It was later that he realized that whatever sane thing he thought he was following turned out to be just like everything else in this life. Complete madness.


_Well, I've decided to mix my usual writing with fanfictions and see what I get. I do hope no one hates this._  
><em>The characters of Death note will remain In characters despite that, perhaps not at first because of the situation they are put in.<em>  
><em>This story is in an Alternate Universe, but I can't say more about it.<em>  
><em>At the end of this author note, I'd like to say that I'm not sure if this will become MxM or not, I'm still writing it and I don't want to force the characters into something that doesn't fit the plot.<em>  
><em>I hope that doesn't stop the fangirls from reading.<br>Adios._

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><p>He never quite understood life. He never knew whether to look up or down. His mother always told him to look down, see that there are people, less fortunate, told him that he should feel lucky for what he has, family, what little money he got from his work, his talents, everything that the lord she so deeply believed in, had blessed him with. His father however, always told him to look up, assuring him that seeing those better than him, those with money, power, people surrounding them, admiring and following them, would encourage him to work harder, would make him set actual goals in his life, goals he'd work to reach. He didn't know who he should listen to, and since he never was one to let others show him how to do things. He listened to himself. He looked ahead, sought the path to sanity and strode along it without a care in the world.<p>

It was later that he realized that whatever sane thing he thought he was following turned out to be just like everything else in this world.

Complete madness.

It doesn't take much to happen, for a human to question their own sanity, look around for some clue that some event, a precise memory they have, never happened. Trying to convince themselves vainly that it was 'just a bad dream'. That's close to what happened to him, looking back at his life, the people he lost, those amazing companions he met along the way but almost every single one of them ended up with a fatale disease, accidental death, suicide or simply leaving without a trace. He remembered each one of their faces, their smiles, their traits, how could he not, they haunted him in his sleep and wake. He didn't take just 'Bad luck' for an answer, he had to dig into it, find out the real cause.

Of course there wasn't one, he was but a human, his lack of chance couldn't possibly be inflicted on others, but he refused to believe that, the only thing that he could wrap his mind around was that he was the cause of it all, somehow taking their lives.

That's when he decided to isolate himself, shut the remaining of his friends away, thinking that whatever curse that was put upon him by some greater power, would just disappear when there was no one to hurt. That little hope for his plan to work, I suppose, was probably why he'd been so shocked, so devastated, so broken, when his father got killed. Of course, it never is easy for anyone to lose a parent, so the hysterical cries and tears he'd suffered from had only concerned his mother a little, she herself was in a bad shape after losing her husband and was quite shaky after that crushing blow of his murder.

Mail on the other hand had lost it. He kept playing the scene of his father's death over and over in his head, he'd had the oh-so-pleasant 'privilege' of witnessing it himself, he'd actually stayed in his place for hours, staring at his father's lifeless body before what happened finally clicked in his mind. He'd kept asking himself over and over again, who on earth loses their life because they happened to sneeze on the wrong person. Not that there is such a thing as 'The right person to sneeze on' but hell did he have a hard time believing what he had witnessed. A total of five seconds was all it took for his father to lose his life and he didn't even see it coming.

"Short-cuts, short-cuts, they make life easier." his father insisted as he walked down the narrow alley, his son by his side, a disgusted look on his face as he eyed the dirty walls. He'd been forcefully dragged out of his room, his father having had enough of his 'sulking' as he called it and 'Believing non-sense'. He'd seen the two black figures slowly but surely walking in their direction, but he paid no mind to them, neither did the older man. The other men were just about to pass them when the air suddenly decided to explode from Mail's father's lungs, through his nose and mouth, a rather strong sneeze, making his son smirk. The smirk soon dropped from his lips, the look of utter horror taking over Mail's face, his eyes dramatically wide, his mouth gaping and his head shaking in disbelief as his entire body trembled. One of the figures grabbed his father's jaw, forcing a pill into his mouth and roughly closing it. He heard a small crushing noise; whatever they'd placed in his mouth had been crushed by his father's teeth. "Swallow." A deep commanding voice had ordered and his father had foolishly done just that, nodding in fear. Once a gulping sound was heard, the men were on their way, never even glancing in Mail's direction. He'd stared at his father with a terrified expression, never moving an inch, not even to help him up after he fell to the dirty ground. In a matter of minutes, he was gone, not a word left his lips before he died.

The tears, self injury and attempts of suicide that followed that incident had kept coming for.. ".. Too long. .." His mother confessed, her eyes dropping to her hands, on her lap. « It's been six months, I'd at least expected him to stop hating himself, feel better, live through it, but… " She trailed off, a sigh leaving her lips. "I don't know what to do anymore.." She said after a moment's silence, "...He says I'm next, fights, with all his power to keep me from going out.. He's been trying to figure out why his father was murdered, finding it hard for everything to be so random." She gulped, tears would've fallen from her eyes had she been capable of forming them, she'd wept too much, suffered, went through hell and back, trying to keep her son safe. She supposed professionals would take better care of him, hence why she was in ' office, at a rather known mental institute. "I want my son back.." She said, her volume rising from her previous quiet tone to a determined one.

By the morning of the next day, ' men were sent to bring Mail to his new residence. They'd come prepared, determinate looks on their faces, fists clenched, muscles tense, ready for the resistance that all their patients had made. No such thing happened. Mail opened the door himself, a suitcase in hand, his face unusually tear-stain-free, and his lips curled in a sad smile. "Lead the way, gentlemen." The voice of his mother, spoke behind him, placing a hand on her son's shoulder. Oddly enough, Mail didn't shout at her when she told him about the new living arrangements that were going to take place the next day.

She'd unlocked the door of his room, from outside with a rather much needed copy of his key, and took slow steps inside. She'd called his name but he didn't answer, rocking back and forth on the bed, curled into a ball. "Mail, dear.." She started to say, struggling for the right words. "Starting tomorrow, you will be staying in .." She hesitated, lifting a hand to place it on her own arm, squeezing it. "...a special place." She'd said, in a quiet voice, not sure what Mail's reaction would be to that.  
>Now he was no idiot, he knew what 'special place' meant. He resisted the urge to shout. 'About fucking time.' At her, and stayed silent, his rocking movements slowing a little. "..I miss you." She whispered, her throat tightening, "I wish I didn't have to do this.." She continued, her head bowed, her nails now digging into the skin of her arm, leaving prominent red marks on it. "You're too young..." The woman said, taking a deep breath in. "I want my child to grow up, live his life, experience the good things his time on earth could give him.. " She stayed quiet for a moment, the silence somewhat encouraging her to further explain her actions, not that she needed, Mail already understood what she wanted to say. "..This is the last thing I can give you, I've tried it all and you of all people, Mail, know it." She turned around, her back to him as she offered her final words. "I'd like to see you doing far better in a few years' time, I don't want to see my son broken anymore." Her voice quieted down, her hand shaking on the door handle as she opened it. "They'll fix you." She said before taking a step outside the room and closing the door, walking away toward the kitchen, trying to convince herself, that yes, this was the right thing to do.<p>

The men sat by Mail's side awkwardly, not used to the stillness of their patient, they'd always had to wrap the patient up in a white straight jacket and still hold him roughly down, tying him to restrain his movements, sometimes they'd had to gag their newcomers, or inject them with something to calm them down or knock them out. They looked at each other, a puzzled look on each of their faces, one of them shrugged, scratching the back of his head. Mail's thoughts were elsewhere, not noticing the weird looks he was receiving as a smile played at his lips. Perhaps finally he'd stop causing people harm, he'd be locked in a room, interrogated occasionally, shot with odd substances repeatedly, but nothing more, no one that cared about him was there to be hurt, and his mother would be safe, far away from him.  
>Or so he'd kept telling himself.<br>The moment he stepped through the front door, he felt free. It was strange really; he'd been out there in the real world and felt imprisoned, by his own thoughts, life, everything going on around him. But now, he couldn't quite describe how he was feeling other than that simple word.  
>Free.<p>

He was led to his room, and was told that a doctor of some sort, was going to visit him in a few hours, and that he should just rest. He nodded numbly when he heard the soft voice of the nurse telling him that she was going to have to give him a shot to help him sleep, and was out cold before he knew it.

The bed he was lying on wasn't nearly as comfortable as the one he had back home, he could feel his neck and back complain at the stiffness of the mattress and roughness of the sheets, his eyes fluttered open as he heard the door give a soft creak, he looked at its direction and found a doctor slowly making his way towards him.

"Good evening Mr. Jeevas." He greeted, opening the chart in his hands and reading, nodding in approval at whatever the nurse had written in them. "Your mother trusted us to take good care of you, and we shall." He assured him, finally looking up to meet the young male's green eyes.  
>Mail nodded, sitting up on the bed and watching the doctor carefully, not knowing what to expect.<br>The stranger pulled up a chair and sat on it beside the bed, placing the chart down on his lap and saying in a soft voice. "A lot of people think this is where we put a bunch of unstable individuals together and torture them into sanity." He said, letting out a chuckle. "We here, believe that humans are quite capable of healing themselves as well as each other." He explained, shrugging a shoulder. "Most people here are or have been, once upon a time, very successful, intelligent.. Then, a happening changes something in them that makes them stop being the way they are, depression for example, in many cases, is quite repairable. Drugs are not a must, merely an option." He continued, crossing his legs and pulling the chart close to his chest. "We will not force you to interact with others, but we assure you that no harm will come from them. You will have to talk to me, everyday however, so that I can see your progress."

Mail blinked in disbelief, this wasn't what he'd expected.  
>This wasn't what he'd expected at all.<p>

Seeing Mail's expression, the man said after a moment. "Your mother told us that you are quite the smart kid, a prodigy. It'd be a shame to lose a genius mind like yourself, simply because you couldn't accept reality." His voice was soft, sincerity lacing his words. "You're a fine young man, Mail, you'll come to realize that what happened to you is nothing but life, forcing its cruelty upon you." The chair's legs squeaked slightly as the doctor stood up. "We will see each other tomorrow morning, you are free to wander about the house as you wish, but do not try to hurt yourself, we are especially strict when it comes to dealing with that." He smiled, even though the redhead had already turned away from him, his lips turning downwards in distaste. The other man turned toward the door, walking out, and just before closing it, he murmured. "Oh, and Mail..." The patient lifted his head to look in his direction. "The room right next to yours; do not enter it." He said, a grin stretching his lips as he closed the door, almost as if he'd sent him a hidden message of some sort.


End file.
